


Did I Ever Tell You? (On Second Thought, Never Mind)

by nyctanthes



Series: Prompt Ficlets [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 3 Sentence Ficathon, 3 Sentence Fiction, F/M, Gen, Growing Up, Moving On, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Parent-Child Relationship, Roadtrips, Unreliable Narrator, Winter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2019-10-10 19:19:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17432000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyctanthes/pseuds/nyctanthes
Summary: Ficlets written for the 2018-19 Three Sentence Ficathon hosted on DW by rthstewart.ETA (9.3.19): Tumblr ficlets will be added, now and then. With tags updated as needed.





	1. The old block

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In response to a prompt from Sawthefaeriequeen: _Will and Jonathan. Unlearning Lonnie's Bullshit._

He doesn’t glower and menace, issue asinine, empty threats that occasionally, when you least expect, turn out to be full of dark substance. He doesn’t scream and punch (except for that one time, and yeah, it felt really good, until it didn't); doesn’t drink himself into a stupor and forget where he’s left his car, force Nancy to drive him around town looking for it while he whines it’s all her fault for being a ball busting nag, for hanging up on him when he called last night to ask for a ride. 

He doesn’t let himself be embarrassed that he likes the things he likes, and none of them are within the parameters of what’s acceptable in Hawkins, Indiana circa 1985. He doesn’t sneer and mock, make oh-so-subtle remarks about fairy wings and painted nails; doesn’t let himself be intimidated (except for those times when he is, less than he used to be, still more than he’d like) by boys bigger and stronger than him, looking to make themselves feel better, if only in the moment.

But hiding: behind silence, a studiously blank face, a flop of hair, a mumbled answer; ever shifting eyes perpetually focused on points just to the right or left of whoever’s talking to them. And disappearing: into music or drawing, books or Castle Byers; via impulsive, meandering drives to nowhere in particular and - once upon a time, hopefully one day again – lazy, solo bike rides and all day explorations of the woods…

They’re working on those things, probably always will be. 


	2. Storytime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In response to a prompt from Sholio: _Any character(s). Snowman._

The deprivation, it never ceases to surprise him, long past the time he should be surprised by anything (what a man will do to a child, given his druthers, given a justifiable end). Inside her there’s a black, gaping pit of need - smaller than it used to be, still ever present. A pit that nothing will completely fill. Not pancakes or sugary cereals. Not soap operas or the puppy dog affections of a thirteen-year old nerdboy. Not even the awkward, fearful, desperate love of a second father who is absolutely nothing like her _Papa_.

He recognizes the darkness. It echoes the one inside him. Booze and pills and work. A shared cigarette, a pull from the same flask. Accidentally on purpose brushing against his high school ex. Having someone – a child, a _girl_ \- to take care of and protect, to do right by this time he swears he will. They don't, none of them, drive it away for long. 

But this, their nighttime ritual. Well, to be more truthful, their two or three times a month ritual. (He gets distracted, she gets temperamental.) It helps.

“Last one for tonight. Your pick.” 

“Peter. And the snow.”

It comes out before he can push it down: an eye-roll, an impatient expelling of breath. He opens his mouth. To complain that she had no right to go through Sara’s books. Point out that someone who runs away to Chicago and has time to get a makeover before she waltzes home to save the town, at the very last possible second, by slaughtering a passel of homicidal demon dogs and closing an inter-dimensional portal is _too damn old for a board book bedtime story_. Threaten that this is the absolute last time he’ll read it to her.

She looks at him, doesn't blink, and the words fade away.

“When he woke up his dream was gone. The snow was still everywhere. New snow was falling! After breakfast he called to his friend from across the hall, and they went out together into the deep, deep snow.”

He’s rewarded with the hint of a smile, a muted sigh of content. She snuggles deeper into the mouse nest of faded, damp smelling quilts she insists on sleeping under. Now all that's visible are those ageless eyes, dispassionate and curious, incongruously paired with pinky white scraps of nose and forehead, a cumulus of just washed hair.

“Does the snow ever get so high here?"

“Nah, excepting big blizzards of course. It doesn’t snow so much over there, either. It’s just that with the plows, the narrow streets, it looks higher."

“Enough for a snowman, though."

“There, yes. Here, too."

“And he likes the bath?”

“Of course. It gets cold out in the snow. Feels good to warm up in a nice, friendly tub.”

She pooches out her lips, unconvinced.

“When you came to the house, you were cold?”

“Yes. My toes hurt.”

“And the shower warmed you up? You felt better while you were taking one, afterwards too? Liked how you felt toasty from the inside out, not just on the surface?”

“Yes.”

“With the tub, it's the same thing. Better, even. You can add bubbles that make you smell pretty." 

She nods, skeptical, but slightly less so than the last time they had this conversation. 

He braces for her next sortie, reminds himself not to lose his temper.

“You’ll let me go outside? To make one? Next time it snows?”

“Maybe.”

“I’d be careful. To not be stupid.”

“It couldn’t sit around. You’d have to destroy it, right after you built it. You’d have to make it in the dark, when everyone is sleeping, so no one will see you.”

“Halfway happy, right?”

“Now you’re getting it.”

And for a while, it’s a little lighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book referenced is Ezra Jack Keats' [The Snowy Day](http://www.ezra-jack-keats.org/ezras-books/the-snowy-day/).


	3. The future's not ours to see

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In response to a prompt from Anonymous: _Any fandom. Any character(s). Roadtrip._

She buzzes the sides short, leaves long what's on top. ( _Nancy, did you give me a mullet?_ ) Dyes it blonde. Jonathan appraises her. He frowns and mumbles. He snips erratically - until she's tempted to suggest he just shave it off and save her from this slow, agonizing death - then dyes her hair...black.

It looks terrible, a dark pool that sucks all the light into it, gives nothing back. Makes her jawbones heavy, and her eyes glassy, insectile. It accentuates her pallor. Her neck resembles nothing so much as one of those fetal pigs she dissected in first semester biology. That lifetime ago when she mockingly referred to herself as a _co-ed_ , her life before it all went to hell.

It's the last thing she should be worried about. She really, really cares.

They head west and south – Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico - avoiding highways and main roads, anything that might take the three of them somewhere that matters. They drive through dozens of hushed, dusty towns; roll down an equal number of drooping, echoing Main Streets.

In the front passenger seat she sits low, rests her head against the window and squinches her eyes tight, until everything she sees, inside and out, is slightly fuzzy. Now she can’t read the billboards and storefronts that could be, probably are, might as well as be Hawkins. (No matter how fast, how far she runs, she will never, ever get away from Hawkins.) 

They’ve got some money, a cushion that gives them a little freedom to wander, provides a temporary reprieve from what's to come. They play tourist, blithe Midwest family. They practice, and eventually perfect their stories, become comfortable with each other’s routines. Different now with the passage of time, the new proximity. 

She learns there’s still so much to discover about a person you assumed held no more surprises, were once arrogant enough to believe you knew inside and out.

They get new clothes – less preppy, less artsy, less my mom still dresses me. After years of standing out - by choice, by necessity, by accident - they blend.

They settle in Arizona, near the border. Will goes to school. They work. Nothing that might identify them. No cameras or books, no newspapers or desks. They take jobs without paperwork. Jobs where they get paid in cash. 

In other words, she waitresses.


	4. Oblivious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of my Jonathan/Nancy _15 Kisses Challenge_. I was originally going to make this a Tumblr only ficlet. But after the latest sale, I figured it couldn't hurt to archive it somewhere less likely to go belly-up.

Walking up the basement stairs with Will, he hears the television in the den - canned laughter and off-tune Christmas carols. He refuses to believe Bob Hope is still sentient enough to be a willing participant in these annual embarrassments. He absolutely believes lots of people still enjoy watching him shuffle and crack dirty old grandpa jokes.  

There’s always next year.

Nancy hands him the box, and he can’t hide a small frown of confusion. What would she give him, and why? He couldn’t help her save Barb. She doesn’t owe him a thing. In fact, it’s the other way around.

He also wants to open it right there; or at least shake it. When was the last time he received a present from someone who wasn’t related to him?  

She puts her hand on his heart and swiftly presses her lips - warm and dry - to his cheek. She smells spicy and sweet, smells of Christmas trees and sugar cookies.

She ducks her head, looks up at him with those big blue eyes and doesn’t turn away. She’s hopeful.  _Questioning_. He’s uncertain what she wants, what she’s asking him, so he smiles. “Merry Christmas.”

“Does this mean you’re friends now? With Nancy?” Will eagerly asks, after unwrapping his  _not really a present, you’ll see_. He’s sketched out for Will how the two of them tried to get Barb and him back from the Upside Down. Given a choice, he wouldn’t have divulged even the few details he did. What Nancy and he shared - those secret, frantic hours together: too long, not long enough - is something he’d rather have just for himself. But it’s not as if he can hide the jagged seam across his hand.

“I guess so,” he agrees. “Sure.”

On the drive home he wonders why Nancy didn’t tell him what was inside the box. She was well within her rights to give it to him with, if not a lecture, at least a written set of rules, when and how he can use it:

\- Only in daylight hours.

\- Only in full view of other people.

\- Only when focused on buildings and trees and, on special occasions, his family.

\- But honestly, he should probably lay off the figurative work for a while. Possibly forever.

When Mom sees it, she frowns. “A new camera? Did something happen to your old one?”

“It broke.” He doesn’t like lying to her, especially now. “It was an accident, a misunderstanding between me and Steve and Nancy. When things were crazy, back when Will - and Barb - were missing.” They’re careful to talk about it like it’s long past, like it’s over.

Then, he tells her the truth.

“She gave it to me because she feels sorry for me. She shouldn’t.”  


End file.
